


Morning Sex on the Road

by thecryoftheseagulls



Series: Zeryn Brosca [12]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Love Bites, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2462792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecryoftheseagulls/pseuds/thecryoftheseagulls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zeryn Brosca/Alistair sexy times after they both leave the Wardens, which is at an undetermined point in time after the events of Awakening. Basically they stick around to make sure the Wardens are rebuilt and can function without them (and so yk they don’t leave Oghren in charge or something). Then they take off with the intentions of first going for cake in Orlais, ofc, and afterwords going wherever the heck they want. So this takes place the morning after they hit the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Sex on the Road

As is typical, Alistair wakes before Zeryn does. Long years of Chantry training, woken early by the ringing of the bells to kneel on hard stone for morning prayers, have turned him, irrevocably, into a morning person. Zeryn is curled up under the furs at his side, her back to him, one hand thrown over her head and the other curled under her chin. He brushes her hair aside and presses a kiss to her neck, confident he won’t wake her. She sleeps deeply, at least when she sleeps beside him. Her skin is cold to his touch and Alistair frowns, reaches under the covers to turn her towards him and pull her close. He had wondered, in those early days of the Blight, how she could always be so cold, huddling close to the fire each night, never in possession of enough blankets or layers. Then they had gone to Orzammar, a city lit and kept warm by lava, and in the perpetually muggy heat there, he’d understood. Alistair rubs his hands up and down her arms briskly and cuddles her close to his chest. She sighs, curling instinctively towards his heat, but still doesn’t wake.

Outside their tent, the birds are chirping loudly as Alistair settles the furs over them again and drapes his arms around her. It’s a strange feeling, there being no rush to get up and back on the road. They are alone, just the two of them in the wilderness of Ferelden, a day’s journey from Vigil’s Keep, and they have no real destination in mind save the general direction of Orlais. He isn’t entirely sure how to feel about it. The freedom is a first for him, an unknown. What Alistair does know is that this woman in his arms is his whole world, and where she is, there’s happiness. So perhaps that’s all there is to know.

Alistair toys with her hair, grown much longer in recent days, and bends to brush his lips over the curve of her cheek, the tattoo over her eye, even the brand on her face, which she normally shies away from letting him touch. He kisses her rounded chin and down to her throat, and her eyes flutter finally.

“Mmm,” she mumbles, butting her head under his chin without opening her eyes. He chuckles and delves under the furs to kiss at her shoulders where the shirt she’s wearing (his shirt, and nothing else, he might add) is slipping off. He licks and nuzzles his way across her skin, then caresses her breasts through the cloth of his shirt. Zeryn lets out a quiet gasp and finally wakes up enough to slur, “Whaa- Alisterr?”

Alistair pokes his head out from under the furs long enough to peck her on the lips and say, “Good morning, darling,” before he’s back dragging lips and stubble across every inch of her thickly muscled abdomen.

Zeryn groans and throws an arm over her eyes. “Mmph. Can’t be morning yet. Mm-mm.”

Alistair moves down, pressing his whole body against her, and nips at the inside of a hard thigh, running his hands up both her legs and then spreading them slightly so he can lick a path up her slit. Zeryn moans as he braces her hips with his hands and licks and sucks at her, tongue swirling over her clit and then back down to thrust inside her.

Fisting her hands in the furs, Zeryn grumbles, “This is…ah, getting to be a habit, oh, with you, isn’t it?”

Alistair pulls his mouth away and smirks at her. “I could stop?”

She growls, actually growls. “Don’t you fucking dare, you abominable tit.”

He chuckles, and she feels the rumble of his chest in her thighs where he’s pressed against her. He lowers his mouth to her again, teasing and licking and tasting her until she’s gasping and shaking under him. She closes her eyes, moans his name repeatedly, reaching down to grab at his hair and he brings her to the brink with just his tongue and lips. Letting out one last half-scream, she arches under his hands and then falls back panting. 

Alistair rubs the back of his hand across his mouth and moves up to settle in again beside her, propping up on an elbow. She reaches for him, a bit blindly, so he cuddles her close and plants kisses across every inch of her face. When he gets to the brand, he hesitates. By this time, Zeryn’s breathing has slowed, and she fastens her green eyes on his face with a tender expression. She brushes her thumb over his chin and then gives him a small nod.

“You can touch it,” she whispers. “Just…don’t surprise me, okay?”

He smiles, broadly, boyishly, and ducks his head to kiss the casteless mark softly. “Whatever you wish, my dear,” he says against her skin. Then he pulls back, gold-green eyes sparking suddenly. He strokes his fingers over her opposite cheek. “Can I…mark you?” She blinks sluggishly, looking confused. “Here?” He nuzzles the mark with his nose and her breath catches in her throat.

“Tits of the ancestors, fucking yes. I – Andraste. Yes,” she groans, her fingers scrabbling into his hair almost painfully, eyes hot with want.

Alistair skims his lips over her cheek gently, and then licks and nips at the skin. She holds very still, soft sounds slipping from her every so often, pain and pleasure and desire all tangled up together in the noise. When Alistair pulls back, the skin around the brand is red and bruised, and it’s no longer the brand which draws the eye. He licks his lips and tries not to look too self-satisfied as Zeryn touches her fingers to the tender skin. She sighs, a smile curving on her lips, and yanks his head back towards her for a bruising kiss.

“Shit.” She touches her cheek again, wonderingly, and says, “You are something else, you know that?”

“I, er…that’s a good thing, yes?”

“Fuck yes,” she says, burrowing against his chest again. She closes her eyes and smiles languidly. A moment later, she opens them again, abruptly. “Sorry, um. Did you want me to…?” She waves a hand in the general direction of his cock, which is, expectedly, straining against his trousers. Biting her lip, she gives him a concerned look.

Alistair runs his hand down the curve of her back, noting the way she curls against his hand, eyes half-closing. He smiles. “You could fall asleep again, couldn’t you?”

“Mm.” Zeryn gives a little half-shrug, helplessly, which is clearly a confirmation.

Kissing her forehead, he wraps his arms around her loosely and says, “Go back to sleep, love. I can wait.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice . She pulls one of his hands into her own and holds it to her chest, and is asleep by the time she curls her head under his chin. He holds her there for a while and eventually slips out from under the covers, tucking them in around her carefully before getting dressed and going in search of food.

***

She wakes cold again, with Alistair’s space beside her empty. The distinct crackle of fire and smell of meat cooking seeps in from outside the tent. Feeling groggy, Zeryn pulls on trousers and boots, with much fumbling and near-falling over, and then she nabs Alistair’s blue cloak and throws it over her shoulders to go outside. Said cloak trails a good foot and a half or so along the ground behind her, possibly more, but she doesn’t particularly care.

Outside, Alistair is standing over last night’s fire with his back to her, poking at some sausages that she vaguely remembers packing when they left the Keep. He munches on a chunk of cheese in his free hand. Zeryn comes up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist.

“Ah! You’re up. Good morning again, my dear.” He turns, and she notices he’s barefoot, with shirt half undone and hair thoroughly mussed. She grins at the sight of him.

“Morning,” she says, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. She peers around him at the sausages in the frying pan. “Are those…edible?”

Alistair makes an affronted noise. “Yes, yes. And you’ll notice I didn’t burn them this time, either.”

Zeryn scrunches up her nose skeptically. “But are they cooked all the way through?” He sighs and spears one through the middle, so she can see that, yes, indeed they are. She beams. “Perfect. I’m starved.”

“Some bread and cheese in the pack I thought we could have as well,” Alistair says. She goes to fetch the rest of the food and Alistair pulls the pan off the fire and settles on the ground with it. She plops down beside him, handing him a hunk of bread onto which he doles out several hot sausages before handing it back. She smiles at him, fingers brushing against his as they pass the food back and forth.

When they’ve eaten everything, Alistair leans back on his arms and eyes her, raising a brow.

“Is that my cloak?”

She nods around her last bite of food, bread crumbs on her chin. “Mm-hm.”

Alistair narrows his eyes. “And not yours?” He brushes the crumbs off with his thumb, fingers lingering longer than is strictly necessary.

“Mm. It’s warm and smells like you,” she says matter-of-factly.

“You know what’s also warm and smells like me? Me.” He reaches over and pulls her unceremoniously into his lap.

“That is a point I can’t dispute,” she giggles.

“I thought not,” Alistair says. He pauses, his intentions obvious in the way he flicks his gaze from her cheek to her eyes, before he runs his thumb over the mark he’s left on her cheek. A pleased smirk dances across his face, and Zeryn flushes a brilliant ruby-red.

“Forgot about that already,” she says, burying her face in his chest to hide her reddened cheeks.

Alistair runs his hand over the back of her head and then tips her chin up again. “You’re blushing,” he says in wonder. “You’re actually blushing. You never blush.”

She smacks him on the arm and squirms slightly.

“No one’s ever left a love mark on my face before. Not exactly something you can hide.” she mutters.

“Do you…want…to hide it?” His brow furrows and he looks suddenly distressed.

Zeryn bites her lip.

“No,” she finally admits in a whisper, causing her face to flame red again. “I…like the thought of everyone being able to see it. That it…marks me as yours instead of just…a nameless nobody cursed by the Stone.”

“You’re not a nobody, Zeryn,” Alistair says adamantly, his arms tightening around her.

“That doesn’t change what the brand on my face says about me.” She looks away.

He hms, quiet for a long moment, brushing his cheek against hers. Finally he says, “You’ve never been a nobody to me, my love. But…if it makes you feel better, I could conceivably make a habit of this.” He mouths at the brand gently and then smirks at her.

She smacks him again.

“Ow,” he says, clearly unhurt.

“That idea is…not your worst,” Zeryn says with a half-smile. “If most definitely not happening.”

“Suit yourself,” Alistair makes a disappointed face and sighs in an exaggerated fashion. She nibbles on his throat and abruptly cups him through his trousers. Alistair yelps in surprise, peering down at her. “Trying to distract me from my crushing disappointment with sex, are you?” Zeryn hms noncommittally and shrugs, batting her green eyes at him innocently. “That…” Alistair grabs her by the arms. He flips them so she’s pinned to the ground beneath him, his cloak spread out like a blanket under her. “…is guaranteed to work.” 

Zeryn grins up at him, catlike, and stretches lazily as he undoes the clasps of the cloak from around her neck so that it falls away. “I thought it might,” she says teasingly, undoing the ties on his trousers to pull him out. Alistair growls suddenly, his eyes hot and hungry, and he takes both her wrists in one big hand, tugs them up over her head, and drops them there, giving her a stern look that is an obvious command to stay put. With a tip of her head, she obliges, watching as he pulls the shirt of his that she’s wearing up and over her head, and then tugs off her boots and trousers. She’s not wearing any smallclothes under either, finds herself naked in the open air of Ferelden. Alistair takes himself in hand and gives a few strokes, keeping his eyes on her face. Zeryn feels a hot ache of want between her thighs and mewls quietly, reaching for his cock before she can stop herself.

“Ah ah. No,” he says before she can touch him, and catches her wrist, again pinning her arms above her head. This time he holds them there, grip loose but firm, and goes on touching himself without otherwise touching her.

She whimpers. “ _Alistair_ ,” she whines. He raises a brow.

“Yes, love?” And, ancestors help her, she recognizes the smug look in his eye, the one that says this is payback for all the teasing she’s done to him over the past months. He’s emboldened; maybe it’s the fact that they’re both finally free of their commitments to the Wardens – equals, truly, no longer the Commander and her Warden-Constable, but nobodies again and lovers to boot. Maybe it’s the love mark she’s let him leave on her cheek for all the world to see, assuming they pass anyone on the road today. Zeryn groans.

“Bronto piss, you – you nug-humping asshole. Stone take you,” she squirms, trying without really trying to free her hands from his grasp and then stops when his grip tightens and his eyes gleam down at her. He keeps on with the slow stroking of his cock and she moans. “Sod it all,” she pants. “Fine. Fuck. Fucking fuck me already you fucking tease. Ancestors.”

Alistair grins wolfishly. He swings her legs over his shoulders with his free hand and then drives into her in one quick thrust, and Zeryn moans around him. He fucks her senseless, drawing out almost completely only to fuck back in, and the angle would be almost painful if Zeryn wasn’t so incredibly hot and wet and wanting. She loses herself in the rough slide of skin on skin and the movement of their two sweaty bodies under the sun. Alistair is still almost fully clothed, his rough cotton shirt dragging against the hard muscle of her naked abdomen, and she can feel the breeze on her skin and him inside her, his hand still gripping her wrists. When she falls apart around him it’s with a scream that he doesn’t even bother to muffle with his own lips as they would if they were fucking in the Keep, doors away from other Wardens. Instead he throws back his head and slows, eyes closing, until she stops shuddering around him and then he fucks into her again. The overstimulation verges close to pain; there are tears in her eyes as she shakes around him and cries out his name. That, his name on her lips, her mouth open and wide eyes fixed on his face, is what seems to undo him. The way he groans her name as he comes, reverent and aching, seems completely at odds with the way he has just fucked her, but it’s not, not really. When he lets go of her wrists to brace himself with his hands on either side of her body she reaches up to guide his face onto her chest until he lets himself collapse, shaking, on top of her.

She slides her hands under his shirt and rubs his back, murmuring soft nothings until he quiets. He sighs after a while, slips out of her and flops onto his back on the ground beside her, and Zeryn rolls until she’s splayed half-across his chest. She toys with his shirt and traces the fine gold hair down his exposed chest beneath it.

“Holy knickers of Andraste,” she finally mumbles. “I’ve thoroughly corrupted you, haven’t I? Fucking me naked out in the open in broad daylight. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Alistair’s self-satisfied smirk fades into a questioning glance as he runs his hands down her back and cups her ass. “It wasn’t too much, was it?”

"Fuck, no,” she says. “I’d have told you if it was. I’m a grown woman. I can communicate.”

His smirk returns. “Good to know.”

Zeryn rolls away in search of her trousers, tugging them on and fastening them. She ignores her shirt in favor of sprawling back across Alistair with a sigh of contentment.

“Not a bad start to freedom, hm?” he says, running his fingers through her hair.

She lifts her head from his chest to peer at him suspiciously. “Did you – did you _plan_ all that?”

He blushes, and that, there, that’s the Alistair she knows. “Maybe. Possibly. Yes?”

Zeryn snickers and drops back. “You should plan these things more often.”

"Should I?” Alistair grins boyishly and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Noted.”

**Author's Note:**

> More of these two on my tumblr, where I am also thecryoftheseagulls.


End file.
